


You May Blame Aphrodite; Soft As She Is

by Haroji



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boarding School, Childhood Trauma, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Homophobia, Orphans, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haroji/pseuds/Haroji
Summary: The year is 1967. Sansa finds herself stranded at boarding school after the death of her parents. Margaery is transferred from Long island to England to start her formal education. As unlikely as it seems, both girls find themselves relying on each other for shelter from their own ills,  and something sparks between them.





	1. Chapter 1

They had met before, just once.

The year was 1958. Robert was holding a dinner party for his 30th birthday. It was to be the grandest occasion Casterly had seen since before Sansa was born; the lord had no inclination to hold back on the festivities, and went especially all-out as he entered a new decade. 

It was a long and gruelling journey for the Starks. They had set off early that morning, and by the time their convoy of slick black cars climbed the slopes to the Manor the world was fast asleep. Sansa sat with her brothers, their legs tangled awkwardly in the cramped space. Her back had grown stiff and her eyelids protested in sleepiness, but she was determined to stay awake. This was her first time travelling south and scarcely a day had passed in months when she hadn’t dreamt of it. 

The sight of the manor, however, as its lights emerged from beyond, struck her right out of her tired stupor. The twinkling of multicoloured stars appeared to be lights in stained bulbs, Sansa noticed as they drew closer, casting a kaleidoscopic light over pristine gardens and a swarm of beetle-like cars. 

“Dear lord, Sansa, the look on your face.”

Theon sat opposite her with arms crossed, his permanent smirk widened into a snide grin. Robb sat beside him, looking rather bored. Sansa scowled at him before doing her best to reset her face from a gaping stare and pressed her forehead against the window.

In all reality, the building was the biggest she had ever seen; the walls seemed to go on endlessly, slipping off into the shadows before they stopped, breathing with music and laughter that only became more pronounced as they drew closer. As they braked and their driver opened her door, she couldn’t help but smile.

It was all she had ever wanted. 

She practically jumped out of the car, her short heels budging the stones beneath her feet. As she watched slender silhouettes converse in the windows she felt a hand on her arm.

Her mother looked down on her. She wore a silk gown the same dusty blue as her eyes, and her dark auburn hair was neatly styled, diamonds swishing from her earlobes and neck, with glossy black fur hanging from her shoulders. She was beautiful. Sansa had always thought so, and had always been praised for being lucky enough to inherit her looks. 

Sansa herself had dressed in a beautiful deep green gown made specially for the occasion. The fibers reflected an emerald shade in certain light, deftly strung with milky pearls at the hems, with a thread of them braided into her hair. In her mind's eye, she could picture the dress as clearly as ever, as she would look back on the night years later. She truly felt like a princess in the stories and moving-pictures she had loved at that age.

“Sansa, my dear.”

“Mother, it’s brilliant.” Her voice came out as a breathless whisper.

“Yes, it’s grand, isn’t it?”

Her hand went up her arm to her shoulder and Sansa turned to face her. Closer up, her mother looked tired and worn, like chewed up gum, her eyes stony and dark. “I can trust you to be good, yes?”

“Of course, mother.”

She gave her daughter a weak smile. “Good. Your sister had already put enough on my plate for the night.”

_ I’m sure _ , Sansa thought, but didn’t say. Her sister was her wildest then and still hadn’t gotten over housekeeper Mordane insisting on her wearing a dress  _ three weeks ago _ . Sansa would’ve wholeheartedly agreed on her staying behind, but Ned had insisted on the courtesy of the whole family being present. When she emerged from her mother's car behind them in the plainest dress she could get away with- their parents had wanted to keep a close eye on her, and so she had ridden with them - her skirt had already been scuffed and soiled, looking up sulkily from underneath Neds tight grip. 

Lady padded beside Sansas feet. Catelyn gave the half-wolf a swift look, her lips curling tellingly, before looking away. She was just a pup then, no bigger than a baby; nevertheless her mother thought it inappropriate to bring them, but her children had protested beyond her persuasion or influence. 

Once the others had caught up, they began to walk towards the vast, stained glass doors. “All right, darling.” Catelyn murmured, her hand still glued to Sansa's shoulder. “Remember to be polite and ladylike. These things matter. And no matter how much your sister provokes you, don’t cause a scene.”

Sansa nodded her assent, only half listening. A man in white took their names, opened the doors for them and they walked through. 

Entering the foyer was like landing on an alien planet. The hall was packed with men and women in colourful, luxurious suits and gowns, the scene twinkling with gems and cocktail glasses twirled in pampered hands. Waiters in white efficiently twirled through the masses. The air above them was filled with pearly white and yellow balloons, the famous ceiling mural of Lann I barely visible through its foliage. The chamber orchestra played sweet, soft music Sansa hadn’t heard before. It was to her, at the time, a sort of heaven on earth.

The rest of the family began to spill through the doors; Theon and Jon both stood a fair pace away from them, as if unsure where their place was. Theon was fumbling with something in his pockets, Jon observing the crowd with that pained look he had mastered. 

“Lord Stark, you’re late!”

A booming voice sounded to their left and a man fought his way effortlessly through the crowd. He was perhaps the biggest person Sansa had ever seen, besides that Hodor from the stables back home. He stood a head above everyone else in the room, a bushy beard exploding from his ruddy face and thick ropes of muscle bound around his neck. His barrel-chest seemed to threaten the security of his jacket buttons. His suit looked thoroughly awkward on him, as if someone had snatched him from a wrestling match somewhere and stuffed him into it. As he strode with heavy steps towards her father his face was hard set. 

He stood in front of him for a second, sizing him up; Sansa could see the curious beginning of a smile on her father's face. Suddenly they both erupted into loud laughter and the stranger practically suffocated Ned with a hug.

“It’s great to see you, Rob.”

“As is you, Ned.” They broke out of their hug, and Robert gave his arm a friendly thump. Sansa could see her father trying his best not to recoil. “You should really come down here more often.”

“Oh, you know how it is. With the children and all…”

Robert turned to where they were standing and beamed. “And a fine set of them at that. You two really do make great kids.”

He strode over to them. Sansa froze as he lifted her chin with a thick, calloused finger. “Christ, you’ve grown! You already look just like your mother.” A heavy smell of wine wafted into her face as he grinned and eyed her humourously, before moving on to her sister. 

“This one’s got spirit, I can see it.” Arya huffed in protest; Catelyn glared at her warningly. “And you, what’s your name?”

“Bran.” He gave the giant man a toothy grin. “My daddy says you were a general in the war, is it true?”

“I was, my boy. Would you like to join the forces someday?” Bran nodded. “Show me your muscles. Christ, you’re strong! I can tell you about it later, if you want.”

Bran beamed and nodded again violently. Robert continued. “Cat, you look radiant. You haven’t aged a day. And Robb, you could be a lord already! Like the tie, Theon. Jon, how’s the music going?” 

Sansa began to zone out as her elders made small talk and scanned the room happily. She imagined the room empty, and her much older dining with a handsome lord at the high table. It was so close, it seemed a possibility. The adults went on and on about the war with Arya and Bran listening excitedly as Robert described how he gunned down 50 germans in a minute. Sansa had no interest in those stories of the past, but pretended to listen politely anyway. 

Some time had passed when she realised Jon had left the group. She scanned the room, looking for a bushel of black curls, and eventually spotted him sitting back against a wall, looking thoroughly miserable. She checked to make sure no-one was paying attention to her and fought through the crowds towards him, falling with a happy sigh onto the cushioned bench. He twirled a glass of wine in his hands, watching the refractions in the cut crystal, and only looked up for a second when she reached him. 

“Are you ok, Jon?”

“Of course, sis. Don’t worry about me. Why aren’t you out there enjoying yourself?”

“I could ask you the same question.” They exchanged a look. “Anyway, they’re all talking about the war. It bores me to death.”

“I can imagine.” He huffed. “You don’t know anyone here, do you?”

“No, Jon, I haven't been south before.”

“I know that, Sans. You will, though, when you’re old enough to go to Sevens’. Pretty much every face you see in this room.”

Jon, a month away from 14, had been attending Sevens Justice for around 3 years at that point, and he was lucky to do so; Ned had to do quite a lot of pushing to get the board to accept a child of illegitimate birth. To her, the school was more of a fable or a daydream than something tangible; being the richest and most prodigious in the country, the school - whose benefactor was Robert himself, alongside the Lannisters - boarded only the highest of the elite in society: sons and daughters of nobles, royal relations, top businessmen and multi-millionaires. The school was notorious for being unequivocally ambitious and rigorous with teaching; nevertheless Sansa had spent her entire childhood waiting for her 10th birthday, when she would be able to start at the academy. 

“Really? So if i pointed to anyone in this room, you could tell me who they are?”

Jon chuckled. “I could try.” He indicated to a group of children, not much older than her, chattering by the bar. “See the lad there, with the long blonde hair? That’s Robert’s heir, Joffrey, he just started. And then there’s Cecil, some first cousin or the other, and Martha…”

Sansa watched, but she wasn’t listening. She was focused on Joffrey. The son of one of the richest men in the country, he - luckily for his sake - bore no resemblance to his father except for the castle in his name. The way he was dressed, his hair brushed until it shone, how he held himself… he could be a prince,  _ her  _ prince.

Jon stopped talking and caught her staring. “Hey, if you’re lucky, Father might let you marry that one.”

Sansa punched him lightly in the side, flaming. Jon let out a chuckle. 

They sat in a thoughtful silence for a long moment - not real silence, of course, the perpetual chatter and singing of violin strings made sure of that. Jon was one of the few people sansa could do so with comfortably, so when she spoke again, it wasn’t out of unease. 

“Jon?”

“Mhm?”

“What’s it like?”

“Sevens Justice?” He stopped fiddling with his glass and set it down on the bench. He gave Sansa a thoughtful look, as if trying to look into her mind to see what she wanted to hear. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yes?” Sansa gave him a nervous half-smile.

He leant closer and lowered his voice. “It’s full of wankers.”

Sansa snorted and covered her mouth, trying to muffle her laughs.

“Don’t tell your mother I said that, yeah?”

“I won't.” She relaxed and looked at him again, more serious this time. “Is it really?” 

Her voice was somewhat sad, and so Jon gave her an assuring smile. “Not for you, probably. As long as you fit in, people will be nice to you. But I didn’t, obviously.”

“Oh. I suppose.” She bit her lip and examined her shoes, suddenly made uncomfortable. “Did you ever actually want to go there?”

“Gods, no.” He said with a laugh. “A school like that’s no place for a bastard.”

Sansa turned towards him. He was staring absently into the crowd with a sad smile on his face. 

Even though Jon was the odd-one-out in the family; even though her mother despised him, Sansa had always looked up to him the most. Status had made Theon and Robb somewhat arrogant, no doubt the same would happen to Bran, but Jon was always there to protect and help her without asking for anything in return. Sansa wondered how he hadn’t grown more bitter even towards her from the whispered mockeries and dismissals he had faced his entire life. 

Ghost got up from Jons side and weaved his way through their legs, and he seemed to suddenly realise something. 

“Um, Sans?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know where Lady is?”

Sansa quickly scanned the surrounding area and felt her heart plummet into her stomach. “Oh god,” she whispered as she got to her feet and desperately examined the floor for any trace of the dog. It would be impossible to find her, with so many people around…

She very quickly felt trapped and suffocated. Leaving Jon without a word, she began to bustle desperately through the crowds, with _excuse me_s and _sorry_s along the way, scanning fruitlessly for even a stray grey hair. People began to watch her as she grew more and more breathless- she must’ve been doing that for a while, as by the time she reached the opposite end of the hall, slumping against a large door frame, she was exhausted. Her face was wet and wobbly and she rubbed her eyes harshly with her rough tulle underskirt. How stupid, _ foolish _ she was- how could she just let Lady get lost? Now she would never see her again, and it was all her fault...

Just as she was about to give up, letting her head slump into her knees, she saw a flash of grey in her peripheral vision. 

There was Lady, darting down the hall in pursuit of something she couldn’t see. Her heart jumped and began to pound relentlessly against her ribs as she gathered her skirts and almost straggled to her feet. Even though she felt as if any more running would kill her, she began to chase after her. 

“Lady, stop!”

The pup paid her no mind, and Sansa silently cursed herself for being unvigilant with her training. She turned a corner with Sansa at her heels, dashing up a staircase and down another corridor, all with Sansa, now completely breathless, in hot pursuit. Sansa watched helplessly as she suddenly changed course, slipping through a crack in an immense, heavy-looking door Sansa could only fit her foot through.

She caught up and grabbed the handle, panting, and pulled back using what remained of her strength but the door didn’t budge. No matter how much of whatever strength she had left she used, the door wouldn’t budge, until she gave a final  _ yank _ with all her weight and fell to the floor as the door swung open. 

She didn’t notice the door fall back on its own weight and close with a final _ click _ as she scrambled through the frame, practically on her knees. Her eyes darted across a semi-lit corridor, panicked until she spotted a bundle of grey panting in the corner. 

“Oh, Lady!”

She fell towards it, and discovered her pup gnawing on a butchered mouse, mouth dripping scarlet. “You bad dog, why are you being so naughty, hey?”

Lady gave her an apologetic look and finished her meal. Sansa scooped her up in her arms and fell against the wall, her breathing laboured. Her fur was warm and tickled her skin, and Sansa buried her face in it, murmuring a silent _ thank god _ as she did so. Once she had caught her breath, she looked around, and only then noticed she had gotten herself trapped. 

Sansa rose, cringing at her strained legs, and went to push on the door handle. Nothing happened. She rattled it a bit, to no avail, and began in a fit of panic bashing her shoulder against it. Tears clouded her vision as she searched for a lock and as her arm slammed hard against the wood. Pushing and pulling, turning and shaking, nothing would work, and she finally sat on the floor and stared with dread down the hallway. There was only one way out, and that was forwards.

“Lady, here.”

Her dog pattered up to her side and she got to her feet. They began to speed walk together down the corridor. She hurriedly descended the first staircase she found. The distant clutter of the hall had diminished- dinner had started, and she would only need to get through that hallway below her, and to her right..

But there was no right, or forward, either. The hallway ended abruptly with a wall, a faded landscape in a wide frame hung on dimly lit cream paint. Instead, the hallway only descended downwards to her left into darkness.

She walked, feeling for doorways in the growing shadow. The windows were open and the breeze moaned in the open space. She walked and walked and walked until she was running through what seemed like endless passages filled with abandoned guest rooms and servant quarters, dusty old furniture and the singing wind. 

She would never be found. She began to contemplate what would happen. It wouldn't take long for her family to forget about her, and she would surely starve to death in the labyrinth like halls with nothing but rats and spiders to keep her company.

She shuddered and collapsed and began to cry softly into her palms. Her prays for someone, anyone, to discover her went unanswered, at least for a while.

"Are you lost?"

Sansa had not heard any footsteps, but when she looked up, a girl was looking down on her.

In her weary state of mind she mistook the stranger for an angel; the candle held in her hand painted her face- dusky and smooth and perfect like a doll, with delicate, smiling lips- a golden wash. Her dress was white and made of layered silk so fine it could be a shadow, embroidered deftly with the palest blue threads of thin ribbon. Her hair was curled and soft and tendrils which had escaped her braids framed her face. Her sparkling eyes moved to Lady. “Cute dog.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flame, silently cursing her misdemeanour, and got to her feet, brushing her cheeks dry. "Sorry, I've never been here before.."

"I thought so." She replied curtly, but there was no hint of mockery in her kind eyes. "Dinner will be starting, you best hurry."

They began to walk. She spoke with an accent Sansa hadn't heard before, definitely not English, assured and with a sing-song tone. She rested a gentle hand on Sansa's elbow. Her touch was soft and kind. 

"What's your name?"

"Sansa. I'm Ned's daughter."

"Ned Stark? Yeah, my mother told me about him. I'm Margaery."

_ Margaery.  _ The name rolled over and over in her mind. When she would recount that moment years later, it would be barely distinguishable from a dream. The girl didn't seem quite imperfect enough to be real. 

"Where are you from?" Sansa's voice was quiet.

"Long island. My dad's the Ambassador. I had to come, obviously, but parties bore me to death."

"Long Island?"

"America." Margaery answered, humoured. Sansa burned. God, how stupid she must look, flushed and sweating and her braids tangled. She spoke meekly. "Oh, yes, of course. And I think it's rather grand, actually."

"Yeah, it is." Margaery smiled wistfully. "I've been to about a thousand, so they've become a chore, really." 

"We don't get things like this in the North. Where I'm from."

"It must all be quite magical then." They shared a look for a second, smiling comfortably. Sansa felt her heart swell. 

Margaery pulled her into a corridor to their left, and down a narrow staircase. The clatter of cutlery was audible to their left. 

"What's it like in America?"

Margaery chuckled. A sweet, hearty chuckle, that felt like warm wine in Sansas stomach. "Not too different, actually. The houses are bigger and folks aren’t as polite." She sighed. "A lot less peace and quiet."

They were silent for a short while. Margaery led Sansa around a corner and through heavy curtains, and they were in the hall again. 

"Well, I've gotta get back to my dad, before he throws a fit." Margaery smiled at her again. "See you later, I guess."

Sansa smiled back, but felt a tinge of sadness in her stomach. "Yes. Thank you ever so much."

Margaery didn't reply, and instead curled her lips and turned to walk away. Half facing her, she stopped, as if remembering something.

"Oh. Sansa. Your hair is coming loose."

Sansa flushed as she stroked damp locks of hair from her brow, biting her lip. She took a pearly blue hair clip from her own hair and slid it above Sansas temple. 

"Oh, really, you don't have to-"

"Don't worry, I have more at home." She smiled again. Sansa had never seen such a warm, genuine smile. 

"See you around, yeah?"

And with that, she turned and walked towards the far end of the hall, her hair swishing with her dress as she went, before disappearing from sight. Sansa watched the space she had occupied, trying to figure out if she had imagined it all. 

Once she had found her table, throughout the night she found herself frequently fingering the hair clip, as if to make sure it was still there, or had been there at all. It would be years before they met again- years long enough to quantify it as a dream. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was an unusually hot day for this time of year, even this far south.

Usually summer would be well under departure by the time term started, but this one clung on. It stuffed spaces like cotton wool and Sansa's paper-thin dress accomplished nothing in keeping her cool.

The bus had ventilation that did very little actual ventilating, and the teenaged bodies packed like sardines only made the heat more oppressive as they trundled on past harvest-ready fields and tufts of forest. The sunken sun washed everything a pale gold and the distant clocktower of Yewville glimmered sleepily. Sansa rested her head on the buzzing windowpane. Travel had always made her weary, and she had little grown used to it.

This would be her second from last year at Sevens Justice, and the more weeks that passed at the academy, the more she felt it was an assimilation into a life somehow harder than the northern one that had abandoned her.

Sansa had been trying to accept it ever since the news came, almost 2 years ago to the day. Ever since she found herself waiting for telephone calls that would never come, and had to start catching herself speaking of her family in present tense, but it seemed the life she had been so eager to abandon only haunted her more once it was gone for good. When the only picture she had of her mother and father was what her nightmares showed her. 

And when the time comes, she would have no home to return to. No place in the world where she could truly belong. Her place was in Cornwall, as a prisoner, an impostor.

She wanted to enjoy it as much as possible, but that always came as a challenge.

Besides her, Jeyne chattered on endlessly about her summer romance with a mysterious italian with Maud across the aisle, but Sansa had lost interest some time back. She had little belief in happy endings, now, after all. It was only when they began up the schools driveway that the din diminished.

The school was certainly grand; the main college was a towering castle-like building from the times of the kingdom of Wessex, though completely gutted out and refurbished into an odd yet attractive conglomeration of the architectural periods the school had stood to witness. Other buildings- subject facilities, dorms and towers- were scattered across the grounds, though none nearly as impressive as the first, or foreboding with wizened smoke-coloured brickwork covered in lichen and twisting climbers. 

Beyond, acres upon acres of gently rolling wetlands expanded, bordered by a forest of tall pine and chalky cliffs to the west. Sansa could just about spot the entrance to the gardens tucked away above the churning waves, marked by twisted gates and explosions of red roses. 

Most of her classmates- most of the  _ school _ \- kept away from the gardens after someone spread a rumour about it being haunted, but that didn't keep Sansa back. Ghosts seemed like a silly thing to be scared of to her, and if it could afford her a few moments of solitude she'd take the risk. 

Sansa wondered what kind of ghosts would live there. The grounds had seen so many lives come and go, it was hard to imagine all of them.When she tried, picturing men and women moaning in despair of their living sins meandering around the plants, they all took on her mother's, her father's, her brothers' faces. Perhaps one day Sansa would join them there. She shuddered and felt Jeyne nudge her. 

"Hey, earth to Sansa? We're here."

Sansa looked up at the now-emptying bus and cursed quietly, twisting her fingers around her suitcase handle. 

Her dorm building was one of the smallest and plainest of the girls' other buildings. It stood 4 stories tall, with red brickwork that had been eroded down to a smooth surface and quaint window shutters painted white with flowerpots full of wilted and discarded houseplants. 

The corridors had the old, all too familiar smell of damp and old polish; regardless, Sansa welcomed the mild draft moving through the building. Other students rushed up to their dormitories, but Sansa fell behind in a slow, burdened pace, dropping her suitcase and herself on her bed as soon as she reached her own.

To a certain degree, Sevens had become like a second home to her, whether she liked it or not; so when she sunk into the fresh linen, and breathed in the faint smell of salt in the air, she was filled with a somewhat unwelcome feeling of coming home after a long journey. 

The room was deliberately furnished plainly: each student was given a desk, chest of drawers and bed, all polished oak, in rooms painted eggshell blue. It was, in intention, meant to instill a sense of humility in students - how humble the dorms were in accordance with most peoples definition, Sansa doubted.

Her wall was almost entirely covered in hangings and pictures. Embroidery hoops, family photos she had coloured in on slower weekends, treasured letters and postcards, scenes naively drawn by Rickon and various photographs she had collected over the years. Her bags had been brought up for her and stacked onto the bed, however her roommates side was empty, the wallpaper stripped where pictures had been pulled from the wall. She had not been told her roommate had moved, but welcomed it nonetheless, and hoped she would have to room to herself as long as possible. She turned over and stared into the blank white of the ceiling.

The afternoon sun still shone bright through the thin curtains, and humidity clung to her skin like a needy lover, but Sansa had no trouble falling into a well-awaited, warm sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short! There wasn't much to write about except to introduce the setting etc. and I didn't want to end up publishing something too boring and dragged out. Anyway, hope u enjoyed, kudos/comment if you did!


	3. Chapter 3

The evening was cold and pale, and one that had daunted Margaery for quite some time.

New York harbour was moving at a somewhat tired pace. Fishermen dragged crates of the day's catch across the planks, travellers hauled their bags and sailors smoked. And beyond loomed a colossal liner, its white flanks gleaming in the sun. 

Margaery took a deep breath and looked over at her grandmother, clutching her headscarf, and her brother, staring fretfully at the ship. He was probably as scared as she, though Margaery was always better at hiding such things.

A seagull flew over her head, and something heavy collided with the boardwalk behind her.

"You daft man, have you ever carried a suitcase before?"

She looked over at Olenna snatching a case from their driver, a wreckage of luggage at his feet, who began to stutter an apology and desperately stuff clothes back into the trunk. He rushed to Margaery's side and handed it to her. 

"A-awfully sorry, ma'am, hope nothing's damaged."

Margaery stared at him. He was young, barely her age, and his hands were scrawny and shaking, his blue eyes watery and anxious. 

She gave him a warm smile and accepted it. "Don't worry about it. We're the ones working you overtime, anyway." She gave him a laugh and pressed a dollar into his palm. "Here, treat yourself with it."

He beamed at her and murmured several _ thank yous _ , before scuttling off to the car. She looked after him with curiosity. It was funny, to her, how such a person could be so different from her, yet side by side no-one would place more value in one than the other. 

"Right, If you don't lose half your luggage beforehand, the ships leaving in 5 minutes." Olenna reached out and placed Margaery's hand in-between hers, lowering her voice. "I'll expect letters and phone calls, so will your father. Please refrain from doing anything too impulsive." 

Her grandmother gave her a curt smile with a twinkle in her eye, picked up the smaller suitcase from the floor, placed the handle in Margaery's hand and gave Loras a look. "That applies to you especially, young man."

Margaery could only offer a sad smile in return. "Are you sure we have to go?"

"It isn't up to me, dearest. Your father insists on it, and you know how stubborn he is. It's only for a year, and hopefully by then you'll be engaged and it'll all be a thing of the past."

_ Engaged _ . That was the worst part of it. Her father expected to marry her off to some pompous British lord, like some sort of livestock. As always, she had no say in the matter.

Women were supposed to be able to  _ choose _ their families at least, nowadays, but her father had always been...behind on such modern notions. Her grandmother was equally as stubborn of mind, but at least had a perspective similar to her own.

"He didn't even  _ agree  _ to that. I doubt he'll even agree to us coming home at all." Loras pouted and crossed his arms across his chest. 

"That's just silly, my dear boy. You're coming home for Christmas, for starters. Now, you better get a move on. Sometimes these captains like to leave port early, and you  _ are  _ getting on that ship."

Her grandmother planted a kiss on Margaery's cheek, and moved to do the same to Loras. She was growing old now, and as of late had to reach up to kiss her grandchildren. Margaery wondered how small she would be by the time she came home. She felt something churn in her throat.

"I'll miss you, grandma."

"I daresay I'll miss you too, young lady. Now, goodbye."

Margaery gave her a final smile as she and Loras moved through the thin crowds, and watched over her shoulder as their car drove off. 

"I can't believe he's done it." Her brother barely bothered to lift his feet off the ground as they walked.

"I know, Loras, I know. But it isn't all bad."

"Isn't all bad?" Loras scoffed, and went silent.

Most of the passengers had already boarded, so the stairs to the ship were clear. Margaery set her cases down, rolled her shoulders and picked them back up again before beginning up the steps. Loras looked back down at her with a cheeky smile as he went ahead. "What d'you think the boys are like there?"

"Loras." 

"I've heard they all have wonky teeth. I wonder what it's like kissing them. Or how it feels like to-"

"Loras!" Margaery pressed her lips together to keep back a burst of laughter. She shushed her brother as they had their tickets checked and were shown to their rooms.

And for the first time that day, she smiled not because she had to, but because she felt like it.

* * *

The sky had turned black outside her port-hole window, and the scenery of the drab wooden panelling and gritty bedsheets had driven Margaery to restlessness. She wrapped a shawl of white fur around her shoulders and stepped through her door frame, following the signs towards the deck. As it turned out, there is little else to do on boats except sit and walk around, and Margaery had regretfully neglected any of her novels for entertainment in her packing.

She had no reference of time, except that twilight had at some point faded into night since they left New York, and that dinner had been served about an hour ago. Margaery had stayed in her cabin with a stomach in knots. It would be fair to blame it on seasickness, being her first voyage and all, but the prospect of the lands they were heading towards were just as likely an effector. 

She had never lived on her own, never lived outside New York, never even  _ gone _ to school, save tutoring sessions back at the beach house. And now she was to do all those things for the first time, all at once.

It wasn't as if she lacked the independence or will to live alone, and had looked forward to that eventuality, though on her own terms. But this felt more like being shipped off to prison than a school.

The wind on deck was not much more than a gentle tug and Margaery tucked her hair in her collar. The sky was a looming darkness caving over their ship from all angles, the sea a mass of ink-black beneath them, but above stars glimmered so clearly Margaery spotted several she had never seen before. And the moon, a full moon, washed a shard of the endless sea a glowing blue. 

It was eerily quiet, as if the ship were uninhabited, lest for the engines whirring beneath her feet. An unkind silence. One that lingers, fragile, before a storm, mocking in its anticipation, but regardless Margaery pressed her waist against the rails and faced up into it, the gentle sea spray kissing her face.

It was, perhaps, the only time she'd be truly alone for a while. 

She had always enjoyed their somewhat quiet life on Long Island. Their manor, Highgarden, had been bought by her grandfather's prospecting grandparents, a beautiful beach house of marble and pillars and roses climbing every available wall. There, her days were filled with playing with her neighbours on their private beach, reading in window sills and flirting with mail boys and sneaking out into the city - and helping host the increasingly occasional dinner party. No doubt Sevens Justice wouldn't be quite so forgiving to that lifestyle, from what she had heard of its rigorous methods and proud reputation.

While Margaery knew that she would return to Highgarden, something in her bones told her she would never quite return to that life. That whatever awaited her in England, it would change her irreparably, for good or for ill.

She took a cigarette case out of her breast pocket, opened it, placed one between her lips and lit it, as she did in times of stress. When she exhaled, she did so as if she hadn't been able to all day. 

"I thought you quit."

Margaery jumped and turned. Loras' silhouette approached her; she sighed and turned back.

"I never fully started."

He found the open case on the railings, took one out and struck the matchbook one-handedly. Margaery snorted at him. "You hypocrite."

He smirked. "Hey, I never said you should've."

They stood in silence for a moment. A ship on the horizon, nothing but a string of square lights in the blackness, started to crawl towards their left, where their city lay beyond. Margaery absently wished she were over there, instead of here.

"Renly tried to call me."

"Oh? What did you say?"

"Operative word is  _ tried _ , sister. But I think he heard you and I are moving to England, so he wants to arrange a visit."

"So?"

"I don't know how he expects that to happen." He exhaled loudly. "I won't lie, I have considered it."

Renly had been involved with Loras ever since the start of summer, but often the two had acted like they'd known each other for years. Loras became enamored, despite Renly being 4 years his senior, and courting him had not been difficult, especially considering Renly barely bothered to hide his romantic endeavours. 

Of course, it was difficult, and Loras knew it would be so from the start. Loras was the ambassador's heir, and Renly the brother of a prominent British politician, so their interactions were not only stirring but dangerous.

Part of Margaery suspected Loras secretly enjoyed that.

"Loras, grandma  _ just _ told us not to cause drama."

"C'mon, Marg. You won't live up to that for an hour." He grinned devilishly and glanced at her. "It's not like everyone in the northern hemisphere doesn't already know of his...affliction. It's hardly  _ causing  _ anything, is it?"

She snorted. "Whatever you say." The breeze grew stronger, suddenly, and Margaery tucked her arms closer to her body, leaning further onto the railing. "You're lucky, you know. None of this would be possible if you were to be engaged."

"My dear sister, is that some sort of confession?" Margaery didn't give him the pleasure of responding. "And who says so? It's not like it hasn't been done a thousand times over."

"Loras, I hope for your own sake you never wed."

"Hey, the world's changing, right? You never know." He laughed and nudged her shoulder. "And will you remain loyal to your...endeavours?"

She scrunched up her face and stared into the foaming water below her. It was obvious what he meant, and was the last question she wanted to hear. All she could do was pray her intended was  _ decent. _

Her cigarette end caught the tides and swept into the waters behind them. Tapping on the rails, she turned towards him. "We'll see, I guess."

**Author's Note:**

> So it was pretty hard writing in a child's perspective for this chapter, but I hope I got it right. What was REALLY hard was trying to write Sansa thirsting over Joffrey. Lol


End file.
